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Jaime’s relative happiness at having gotten away with it lasts exactly the time it takes him to find a way out of the Red Keep without either getting caught or having to kill anyone else on top of… well.
His already illustrious list.
He’s not going to think about the sound Aerys made when he slit his throat.
He is going to think about the sound Gregor Clegane made when he stabbed him in the back, though. That had felt satisfying enough. Same as the sounds everyone else who had their hands on the princess had made when he took care of them before he took the weeping girl into his arms and hightailed the shit out of the Red Keep - there was nothing left to do for Princess Elia or Prince Aegon and he certainly didn’t want the girl to see what had become of them.
So, he had managed to find a way out, through the empty kitchens and then somehow reaching the only door that wasn’t manned by his father’s army before he hauled himself down to the beach, the still weeping princess latching to his neck, both of them covered in blood, and now he’s standing in the small harbor, thinking that they got away with it -
And realizing that he has no fucking clue of what he should do now.
His father’s army is sacking the city, which means that Robert Baratheon has won the damned war, which means that neither of them certainly will be happy to see that one Targaryen heir survived thanks to his intervention. He also has slain his king, which he knows is fucking high treason regardless of how much Aerys deserved it or not… and he had saved his niece, as in, the only one of Rhaegar’s heirs that survived, which means that… well. It’s a damned clusterfuck, that’s what it is, because slaying Aerys would maybe grant him Robert’s favor and his father most likely won’t complain about it given that his men were on orders to kill the rest of the royal family… but saving the girl means that he won’t be in their good graces, and if he goes to any Targaryen loyalist with her that might be something they could appreciate… but he still did slay Aerys.
Which… would most likely result in the girl living and him dying, and while he could be all right with it… well. He really isn’t in a hurry to die right now.
Rhaenys is still holding on to his neck and crying her eyes out, though at least she’s silent now.
Jaime drops sitting on the shore, cradling her to him, and trying to figure out what the fuck is he supposed to do here.
Going back to the Red Keep and try to make his father or Robert Baratheon reason is absolutely out of the question.
He could go to Casterly, he reasons, but there is no bloody way Cersei would help him, he knows, and he’ll think about why he’s so sure of it later. Not now. Tyrion certainly couldn’t, he was as old as Rhaenys is right now when he last saw him.
Right. No Casterly either. He could try to board a ship and go to Essos, but considering that all he and the girl in his arms have to their names are their bloody clothing and that everyone in King’s Landing will know they’re missing before tomorrow, he doesn’t see how that might work short of stealing one and he doubts he can row all the way to fucking Pentos on his own.
Right. Bad idea. So, what else -
Right. The Dornish never were fond of Aerys or his own father, he remembers Oberyn Martell’s distaste for court even too well, but they did side with him because of Elia and Lewyn… and see how it ended. They would take the girl, and they wouldn’t kill him, most likely. Except that how in the fucking Seven Hells is he supposed to get to Dorne like this? He wouldn’t make it out of the city in the first place.
Unless he somehow manages to hide in between troops going to Dorne for some miracle, and that would be hard enough -
Wait a fucking moment.
His hand stalls from its repetitive stroking of the girl’s hair, which is most likely for both their benefits at this point, but -
Last he knew, Rhaegar had brought Lyanna Stark to Dorne. Certainly, Ned Stark won’t send someone else to get her. And Ned Stark, well. Ned Stark is honorable, and certainly is not Robert, and it always was known in court that he had a fondness for children. Maybe -
Well.
It’s not as if he has that many choices. He tries to think of any other option he has, but no - asking Stark to hide the both of them in his army and then split the moment they’re in Dorne is the only thing he can think of that has some chances of not ending up with either him or Rhaenys dead.
He supposes they will have to go back to the city and hide around until Stark leaves… or she could hide on this shore here, not many people know about it, and no one would notice her in the caves leading to the Red Keep. Well.
At least he has a fucking plan.
He resumes stroking the girl’s hair.
He’ll tell her of the plans later.
--
Thankfully, she understands that he can’t bring her with when trying to get information, so she stays in the caves with his dirty cloak to cover her and he goes back to the castle after washing blood off him with saltwater. He manages to not be found as he tries to fish for rumors, and after a few hours he learns that Ned Stark will leave a couple of days from now on and that his army is camping below the hill.
Very well.
He steals some food for the both of them, sleeps the night off under his dirty cloak with the girl clinging to him, and the day after he sneaks them out of the shore and to the hill.
--
He steals another brown nondescript cloak from some laundry basket he finds on the way out, and hides the both of them underneath - if she clings to him, it’s not so hard. Then he stands in the shadows until he sees Stark retreating to his tent for the night.
Alone.
Then he takes a deep breath and hopes against hope that Stark doesn’t fuck this up.
--
“What -” Stark says as soon as Jaime lets the flap fall closed behind him, and then immediately shuts up when Jaime pulls down his hood and opens the cloak enough to show him the terrified girl clinging to him.
“Lord Stark,” he blurts, “I didn’t know where else to go and while I certainly am not asking you to commit treason, I also don’t think you would want to see her dead and I cannot think of any other way to reach Dorne without anyone trying to kill either of us, so I would be extremely thankful if you considered not calling your friend now and help me out at least for her sake.”
It’s not the speech he had prepared. Admittedly, he sounds exhausted and he knows he looks exhausted and that he still has Aerys’s blood under his nails, and he knows that the girl has a badly scarred over wound on her face that they gave her before he could get her out of that room, and he knows that Stark must not have taken too well the fact that he killed his king, which he supposes everyone must have figured out by now, but he’s not screaming for help now.
He’s not even touching his sword.
He’s just staring at Jaime with grey, tired eyes.
“You - you did it, didn’t you?” He asks, stopping himself before he can say killed her grandfather or whatever.
“I had to,” Jaime says, “he was going to burn down the entire city with wildfire. I had to.” The girl flinches, holding tighter to him.
Jaime really wants to sit down.
Stark nods. Jaime wonders if he’s thinking about his father and his brother.
“I would not want to see her dead,” Stark sighs. “What - well. Your father, he… showed… her brother to Robert.”
Shit. Jaime puts a hand over her ear. “And?”
“We haven’t spoken since,” Stark says.
Good, Jaime thinks, even if it’s not enough to make him stop being alert.
“You look exhausted,” Stark says. “You can leave her on my bed. I need to talk to you alone.”
Well.
That wasn’t a no.
“You heard him,” Jaime whispers to Rhaenys. She nods, tentatively. “I will be right there talking to him. Just - try to rest a moment, all right?”
“Will you come back?” She whispers, sounding miserable.
“Sure,” he says, kissing the top of her head before laying her down on the bed, putting a blanket over her shoulders. Gods, he was tired from carrying her. He nods, then goes towards the farthest corner of the tent, where Stark is waiting for him.
“Listen,” Stark says, “I don’t want to… not help you. I understand what you’re trying to do. And - well. If the king wanted to burn the entire damned city - never mind. But - I have to go get my sister.”
“I know,” Jaime says.
“Well, I talked to people. My sister is with Arthur Dayne at the Tower of Joy. And the rest of the Kingsguard that… hasn’t perished until now. I don’t want to fight him, but I don’t even know if he would… well. Cede, I suppose. So, I have a deal for you.”
Jaime thinks he can imagine it. “Speak.”
“I will hide you both with the army I’ll take to Dorne. I will let you bring her to Sunspear when we cross the border. But then I will need you to join me at the Tower of Joy and try to help me reason with Ser Arthur, because you’ve known him longer and - maybe he would listen to you more than me. And if everything goes well… I don’t know what you are planning on doing, but I could try and put in a good word for you.” He looks at Jaime with the eyes of a man who really is as tired as Jaime feels.
“Deal,” he says, extending a hand without even thinking about it twice. It’s more than he’d have presumed he would get, and he knows Stark will hold his end - he is honorable to a fault, after all.
When Stark takes it, Jaime feels like he could fucking faint in relief.
“You can go sit with her,” Stark says quietly. “I can ask for some more dinner and find you better clothing. We will discuss the details later.”
“Thank you,” Jaime says, too tired to hold on a longer conversation.
Stark nods at him and leaves the tent.
Jaime will have to trust him, but he knows that with how honorable to a fault the man is, he won’t. He sits down next to Rhaenys, runs his dirty fingers through her raven hair, and lets himself hope that he has done the right thing.
End.